Well, the forty-fifth annual Hong Kong International Film Festival drew to a close two nights ago, as I ventured to Tsim Sha Tsui via Star Ferry for the umpteenth time in twelve days, to catch an intense but stunning Russian drama called Dear Comrades! It was a fitting ending to a powerful stretch of (mostly) great movies that had started back on the first of the month.
With the 2020 iteration of HKIFF cancelled twice last year due to COVID, I made up my mind long ago that, as long as the government gave the festival a green light, I was making the most of things.
Boy, did I do it. I bought seventy-four tickets to twenty-five screenings. So I guess it's pretty safe to assume I got my money's worth on my Cine Fan loyalty card!
Now, to be clear, many of those seats went to friends who came along with me to the movies. Since I was the one with the discount card, it made the most sense for me to do the purchasing. For two screenings, I didn't even wind up going at all, I simply passed the tickets off to the friends who wanted to attend.
Still, that means I made it through a whopping twenty-three movies myself, across three separate venues on Hong Kong Island and Kowloon. And I'd like to just pause for a brief moment now that things are over to record my reviews for posterity.
The festival opened with Septet: The Story of Hong Kong, a most delicious pretext for a local movie. Seven iconic directors were each assigned a different decade and tasked with filming a short twenty-minute segment that, when all strung together, were meant to reflect the diversity, gumption and soul of this city and its inhabitants.
While the results were, cinematically speaking, something of a mixed bag, the glamour of having five of the seven auteurs introduce the screening in person, plus the excitement of attending the opening of the festival, made for nothing short of a magical evening.
There were several moments of pure delight, and the very best segments were truly the stuff of cinephilia, and I'll fondly recall the uproarious ending for many months to come, which put me in such an effervescent mood that I walked out of the Grand Theatre of the Hong Kong Cultural Centre practically skipping towards the Star Ferry to cross back to the Island.
And things only got better from there.
The next afternoon, a group of seven of us met for Minari, the Oscar-nominated story of Korean immigrants trying to successfully forge a new life in rural America. Deceptively simple and utterly unforgettable, Minari is worthy of all the praise it's received of late. With acting of the highest pedigree, plus a symbolism-rich story with autobiographical flourishes that made it clear this was a very personal work, the movie lingers now as one of the true highlights of this year's HKIFF.
Later that night, I caught a French ski drama called Slalom at the K11 Musea, which told a disturbing story about a fifteen year old girl engaging in an emotionally-confusing affair with her much older instructor as she scales the heights of the European winter sports world.
Both movies that day included post-screening interviews, pre-recorded via Zoom, with the film's directors. At previous festivals, a handful of screenings always featured in-person talks, but COVID forced the organizers to think a bit more outside the box this year. Let's just say, I hope that moving forward, these little segments become a permanent fixture of the event. Of course, I'll always relish the chance to see a living director in the flesh before or after a movie. Still, it will never be possible for every filmmaker to journey to Hong Kong, and this was a great way to still give the audience additional insight into the backstories of very intriguing films.
Hong Kong classics ruled the day on Saturday, with three favorites from decades past.
My friends Sarah and Omar joined for the first movie, Rouge, directed by this year's filmmaker in focus, Stanley Kwan. Starring two veritable local legends, Anita Mui and Leslie Cheung, the 1987 romantic drama told the story of a ghost who had died in 1934 searching for her lost love in then-current Hong Kong.
The mysterious air that pervaded the film was compelling, and although our seats in the far reaches of the upper circle of the Cultural Centre were about as bad as could be, it was still an amazing experience. We couldn't resist a few post-movie drinks at Harbourside Grill in Harbour City to digest the disturbing implications of the story, while the three of us agreed the imagery and acting held us spellbound for the entire running time.
Hong Kong's most internationally-renowned director has got to be the iconic Wong Kar Wai, and this year's festival included four restored versions of his most famous films. Although I missed out on snagging seats to In the Mood for Love, which I caught years ago at the Museum of the Moving Image in Queens, I did manage to get spots for the other three, which I hadn't seen before.
And the first of the bunch wound up being the unquestionable apex of the entire festival for me: Fallen Angels. From the opening moments of a desperate-looking young woman storming through an MTR station, to the haunting final shot of two lovers cruising through a tunnel beneath the skyscrapers of Central while the Flying Pickets croon "Only You," I was truly rapt from start to finish.
I've had some amazing moviegoing experiences over the ten festivals in which I've actively participated since my arrival in Hong Kong in 2009, but the privilege of attending this screening surely makes the short-list for all-time bests.
Another of Wong Kar Wai's pictures, 2046, a quasi-sequel to In the Mood for Loved, dazzled us immediately after. And although the story and its fragmented telling made for a slightly confusing first viewing, I was completely won over, without a need to fully understand every aspect of the tale. This is a movie I know I'll watch and study over and over again.
The next day was Easter, and, just like last year, I reserved a table at the Verandah at the Repulse Bay. Still, by nighttime, I was ready to re-enter the K11 to catch the Chilean documentary The Mole Agent, which was almost too delicious for words.
The premise was as simple as it was irresistible: a dapper octogenarian accepts a job as a spy in a nursing home, to report back to a detective agency hired by another resident on whether or not there is some funny business going on in the day-to-day operations of the facility. But, through the sheer force of his charming personality, he winds up changing the lives of all the other inhabitants of the place, teaching them not to give up on life in spite of their situations, and even reminding several of the female residents that they are still capable of romantic feelings!
Both Monday and Tuesday were public holidays here, meaning I really could indulge in my cinematic passions without having to worry about balancing work responsibilities. And the first day included an enticing idea for a double feature.
In 1991, Stanley Kwan created a mega-biopic about the life of Chinese screen legend Ruan Linyu, who burned brightly in 1930s Shanghai before her untimely suicide at the age of thirty-four. Maggie Cheung was awarded the Best Actress award at the Berlin Film Festival that year for her sublime lead performance, and the recreation of the lost world jazz age China made for essential viewing.
But the icing on the cake, at least for me, was to immediately follow this up with a screening of Ruan Lingyu's most iconic performance, The Goddess, from only a year before her death. To juxtapose the cinematic retelling of her life alongside perhaps her greatest role was a stroke of genius on the part of the Film Festival Society. And to have Stanley Kwan appear at both screenings was also a special treat, in spite of the fact that all his commentary was conducted in Cantonese without any attempt at an English interpretation.
Heigh ho.
I hurriedly crossed the harbor after The Goddess, because my final screening of the night was over in Wan Chai, at the Hong Kong Arts Centre on Fenwick Street. In the tiny but immaculately proportioned Louis Koo Cinema (really more of a screening room than a movie theater), I caught a charming 1938 Japanese comedy called The Masseurs and a Woman. This rarely-scene gem told the story of two blind masseurs working at a country resort, and their gentle interactions with the rest of the guests at the inn.
One of the best things about the festival is that it provides such incredible opportunities to see restored classics the way they were intended to be screened, with an audience on a big screen, not on a television or laptop. I'll forever take advantage of such opportunities whenever I get the chance.
Tuesday was the first and only "four movie day" for me at this year's festival. This is the maximum number of screenings I can cram into a single day, and I'll only do it if there's no other way. But the timing was pretty perfect, with an ample stretch between each film to allow for reflection and travel to the next venue.
The first two movies were both projected on the giant screen in the Hong Kong Cultural Centre. First up was an animated fable retracing the life of a dog as she dies, looking back on the various owners who took care of her at various stages in her life.
It was wiggy and colorful, with such an engaging visual style that, looking back now, I'm tempted to rank it number one among the crop of new releases. (I'm pretty certain a restored classic will always take the top slot for me at any given festival.) There were moments of great humor and others of great sadness, and if you have the chance to experience this bravura example of modern filmmaking, please don't pass it up. Marona's tale is fantastic for sure, and you won't want to miss it.
Wolfing down a speedy Rueben at the neighboring Langham Hotel, I tried my best to get in the mood for Woody Allen's newest charmer, Rifkin's Festival, one of the director's most appealing works in awhile. Set amidst the backdrop of the San Sebastian Film Festival, it tells the story of a couple who's marriage falls apart amidst a mélange of film screenings, press conferences, cocktail parties and swanky dinners, while a black-and-white series of dream sequences poke uproarious fun at some of the greatest classic films of all time, like Citizen Kane, 8 1/2, Breathless and The Seventh Seal.
True, the three friends who attended this one with me didn't quite catch every Fellini or Bergman in-joke. But the dreamy images of gorgeous Spain, plus the star-studded international cast, made for an enjoyable, fluffy romp.
It was fitting that the next movie of the day was a classic, You Only Live Once, directed by Fritz Lang during his time in Hollywood, and starring the luminous, legendary stars Henry Fonda and Sylvia Sidney. Truth be told, I've seen this movie before. In fact, I actually own it on DVD. But I never even considered skipping out on this screening, in spite of the fact that I'd have to cross from Kowloon to Hong Kong Island and then back again to make it happen.
And I closed out the day with Corpus Christi, an unforgettable Polish film that was nominated for last year's Oscar for Best International Feature. Both the original idea and its execution were of a very high standard here, where a troubled youth fresh out of juvenile prison poses as a priest in a small town to avoid working in a factory.
While not every aspect of a religious life appeals to him, he really finds a place among the townspeople, changing their lives for the better with his unconventional approach to spirituality. But when secrets from his past bubble to the surface, it becomes clear there will be no happy ending.
It was back to the office on Wednesday after a long, lovely five day weekend, so you better believe I couldn't wait for the workday to end come 6pm. I had a quick dinner at Sexy Crab before catching an elegiac French documentary called The Last Hillbilly over at the K11.
This was perhaps the most unconventional and surprising film of this year's bunch. Basically, a young French duo happened to befriend a quasi-philosophical hillbilly while seeking inspiration for a documentary in rural Kentucky. They spent a series of multiple months spread over many years living with him and his family, and the portrait they captured of a dying way of life was filled with wisdom, humor and joy, all tinged with a mournful quality of melancholy as the subjects seem well aware of their vanishing way of life.
Thursday's screenings included the final Wong Kar Wai installment, Happy Together from 1997, which tells the bittersweet romance of two Hong Kong men stranded far from home when their finances fall through on a vacation in South America. Beautifully shot by Wong's stalwart cinematographer Christopher Doyle, and with captivating performances from Cannes Best Actor recipient Tony Leung and Leslie Cheung, it was another intriguing feature from Hong Kong's master director.
Later that night, after another stop at Harbourside Grill's expansive terrace, I ventured back to the Cultural Centre for Miranda July's newest work, Kajillionaire, which had me roaring with laughter at its unconventional, awkward humor.
The movie tells the story of a poor family who live off of the funds they raise via scams, schemes and petty crimes. They rob mailboxes for gifts they can return, take trips so that they can falsely claim for lost luggage insurance and scour trashcans for anything that could be converted into cold hard cash.
It was a late screening that didn't begin until 10pm that evening, but I'm oh-so glad I summoned the energy to stay up for this wonderful, offbeat tale.
I must confess, by the time I arrived at the Cultural Centre for Lan Yu, another Stanley Kwan feature, on Friday, I was a little the worse for booze. You see, my company Easter lunch had taken place earlier that afternoon, and among a pina colada, some sangria, a few double Scotches and even a glass or two of port, I was not exactly in the best condition to study the cinematic merits of the movie.
Still, sitting in the front row of the Cultural Centre's balcony, I was at least able to savor the visual splendors of the movie. Similarly, the next screening, right on its heels, a Kazakhstan dark comedy called Yellow Cat, about an ex-con and his prostitute girlfriend who long to open a cinema in a remote corner of an already-remote country, has moments of breathtaking beauty, if the film as a whole didn't capture my imagination.
I was back to my old self on Saturday, for another two-movie days, featuring a duo of spy-related films set far in the past.
The first was a Japanese WWII-era drama called Wife of a Spy, which told of a couple who attempt to betray their own country upon learning some dreadful secrets about the actions of their government. Although I felt the story lacked the requisite excitement to be a top-class spy drama, there were stretches of incredible poignancy, and the pitch-perfect recreation of 1940s Kobe alone was worth the price of admission.
But it was the second film that day that almost blew me away, Roman Polanski's newest feature from France, An Officer and a Spy, which re-tells the true history of the Dreyfus Affair with an exquisite attention to detail and a bevvy of fine performances from a cast of troupers.
A few reviews have remarked that the movie should be a textbook example of how to make a historical drama, and I can't help but agree. Polanski's assured direction, an unforgettable lead performance from Jean Dujardin, and evocative recreations of nineteenth century boudoirs, offices, courtrooms and city streets, meant the two-plus hour running time simply evaporated for me.
As the festival neared its end, I caught a final movie in the Cultural Center on Sunday afternoon, Jean-Luc Godard's seminal Breathless, which had been memorably spoofed by Woody Allen in the same venue only a few days before. Of course, I've seen this one in the past, but never in as opulent a setting as the Grand Theatre. What can I say? Sixty years after it's release, it remains a true classic of the cinema. And I'll never refuse a chance to see it on the big screen when it comes my way.
Monday concluded back in the K11, with that final screening I mentioned earlier of Dear Comrades! Stunningly shot in crisp black and white, with a fierce performance from its lead actress as she searches for her missing daughter after the military opens fire on protesters in post WWII Soviet Russia, the movie was an unflinching portrait of government corruption, at once a historical document of the time in which it was set yet laden with nuance and resonance for the modern world.
As Aaron Kwok, singer, movie star and seemingly perpetual ambassador of the HKIFF appeared on screen after the movie to draw the festival to a close, I couldn't help but thank my lucky stars at having had such a full and fun experience at this year's event. While it's always a bit sad when the festival ends, I know I'll keep stellar memories of the forty-fifth Hong Kong International Film Festival for a lifetime. And you know where to find me next spring, when it returns to our city again!
Until then, that's a wrap, folks!
